PS I Hate You
by entersomethingcleverhere
Summary: Mr. Queen: I am your next-door-neighbor whom you've never officially met. I'm writing to you at three in the morning to the soundtrack of your violent lovemaking to tell you that, while I'm happy for you and your flourishing sex life, I must protest at the loudness of your guests, your bed springs and your head board.
1. Bringin' down the house (or so to speak)

**Chapter 1: Bringin' down the house (or so to speak)**

Felicity Smoak wanted to scream, but no one would have heard her.

And that was because her asshole neighbor Oliver Queen hadn't been considerate enough to oil the bedsprings of his bed. Or buy a padded headboard. Or, you know, refrain from bringing a chick who was shouting like her fucking vagina was on fire at three in the fucking morning. Which, for all Felicity knew, could have been happening. They _had_ been going at it for like two hours already and the groaning of his bed springs still hadn't slowed, so it was entirely possible that the friction had started a fire.

She'd never actually _met_ her neighbor, but she'd seen him before. He was her boss's son, after all, so she would see him wander around the office every so often. She also saw his mug on the tabloids every time she was in line at the grocery store, speculating which supermodel he was flaunting as his girlfriend at the moment.

So from his very public reputation as a playboy and a billionaire brat, it shouldn't have surprised Felicity when he turned out to be the worst neighbor in all of existence.

It's not like she really could have seen it coming, though, because she hadn't been living there for very long. It had only been a couple of months, but she picked her new apartment as a sort of celebration. It was one of the most expensive complexes in Starling City, with a state-of-the-art security system, 24-hour indoor pool, gym and laundry facilities, complete with covered parking, balconies and walk-in closets the size of her old apartment. After she scored the promotion, she and her best friend celebrated by packing up all her shit and moving her into the snazzy new apartment she could now afford.

But if she'd known that it came with living right next door to Oliver Queen and his never-ending parade of women with the thinnest wall imaginable, she probably would have thought twice.

The girl let out another wall-shaking scream, this time followed by Oliver's primal grunt, which caused Felicity to roll over in her bed with a groan and press one of her pillows over her head. For Christ's sake, it was _three in the goddamn morning_. Tomorrow was _Thursday_. She still had to _work_.

The creak of the bedsprings started intensifying, and Felicity finally broke. That was it, she fumed to herself. That was the last straw. She couldn't take it anymore. She'd been showing up to work exhausted every day for the past two months because her neighbor couldn't keep it in his pants. Her coworkers started asking about her health, and she'd already blown her entire monthly budget for makeup on bottles of concealer to hide the gray bags under her eyes.

No, enough was enough, she thought as she reached toward her bedside table for the pad of paper she kept in a drawer. Then she snatched a nearby pen and started writing.

 _Mr. Queen,_

 _I am your next-door-neighbor whom you've never officially met. I'm writing to you at three in the morning to the soundtrack of your violent lovemaking to tell you that, while I'm happy for you and your flourishing sex life, I must protest at the loudness of your guests, your bed springs and your head board._

 _I understand that you've had everything in your life handed to you, but there are some people who have to_ work _, and those people generally don't appreciate being awoken by your ape-like grunts in the middle of the night, the day before a big presentation. In fact, those people would generally agree that there's really no place for that amount of yelling at three in the morning. And unless you're ranting against the sexist patriarchal practices of modern society, no woman should be agreeing with you that loudly at three in the morning either._

 _I've enclosed several items with this note. First, is an extra small condom that fits odd shapes (because someone who has as much sex as you do_ has _to be trying to prove something), and second, is some WD-40 for your bed springs. Please use both._

 _Or you could try to refrain from having wild animal sex at three in the morning on a fucking Wednesday night._

 _Felicity_

 _P.S. She was definitely faking it._

When she was finished with her letter, she folded it up and stuck it under her glasses on her bedside table. Then she rolled over on her side with her pillow firmly over her head in an attempt to drown out the noise.

God, she hated this guy.

* * *

Oliver Queen had been the recipient of many a passive-aggressive note in his day, but none quite so passive-aggressive as this. This...this was a whole new level.

He glanced up from the letter to peer into his bedroom. Lana had long since left, but the sheets were still in tangles from their "violent lovemaking" the night before. Then he looked up in thought as he recalled the previous night.

In all honesty, he hadn't been paying attention to how loud Lana had been. He'd been paying attention to...well, to other things. So for all he knew, they both could have brought down the house with their screaming. Or, as this Felicity person pointed out, his ape-like grunting.

The note amused him more than anything. From her pointed word choice to her insulting gifts, Felicity's anger made him chuckle. Just as he'd received a lot of passive-aggressive letters in his past, he'd also been on the receiving end of _a lot_ of insults — most of them not at all clever.

This woman was far cleverer than most of the people who hated him, which was a very refreshing change of pace.

He tried to picture this Felicity person in his head. He couldn't remember having ever seen her in the hall or around the building. And like she mentioned in her letter, she had a job and one that probably required normal business hours. Considering he usually didn't roll out of bed until just before noon, there was very little chance he'd catch her while she was in her apartment.

In his head, he imagined this Felicity person was homely. She seemed like a short woman, with dull, stringy brown hair and glasses that took up half her face, with weird hunched shoulders and a closet full of mustard yellow cardigans. She had to be at least in her mid-fifties, because Felicity was such an old person's name. And she probably had a bunch of cats on the other side of that wall, too.

Well, regardless of what she looked like, he had to return this favor in kind. Having a smart, angry neighbor to mess with was too good an opportunity to pass up. Besides, ever since Thea moved away to college, he didn't have anyone to pick on anymore.

After a few seconds of thought, he sat down to his kitchen table and pulled his notepad closer to him. A letter as comical as this deserved an equal response.

 _Dear Felicity,_

 _I'm sorry to hear that your night was not quite as enjoyable as mine. I suppose not all of us were blessed with my charm and talent in the boudoir, but surely those are some skills you will learn in the future._

 _In the mean time, I want to take the time to express my gratitude for your gifts. You're correct in your assertion that my bed springs do need a bit of lubrication. After all, as I'm sure you've heard, they go through the wringer pretty much every night. As for the condom — thank you very much for your concern, but I have it taken care of. But this will come in handy the next time my shower head leaks._

 _To return your gracious favor, I have included a few items that might come in handy for_ you. _Enclosed is a bottle of my favorite lubrication and a powerful laxative. I guarantee this lubrication is one of the best on the market, and it should definitely help you remove that stick up your ass. And if that doesn't work, the laxative should take care of it for you._

 _Thanks again for your kind gifts._

 _Oliver_

 _P.S. The stains on my sheets tell a very different story._

After he finished the note, he read it over to make sure it was of the caliber as the one he received. When he was finished, he smiled to himself and started getting ready for another night out on the town.

Maybe this time Lana would be willing to bring a friend. And maybe he'd make sure to pound both of them against that shared wall.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi! This is my first Arrow/Olicity fanfic and I'm kinda nervous about it but ALSO pretty excited about it. Please let me know what you think! Also come and find me on Tumblr at entersomethingcleverhere.


	2. Where did you come from, Cotton-Eye Joe?

**Chapter 2: Where did you come from, Cotton Eye Joe?**

Felicity arrived at work Friday morning in a blind rage.

Her assistant stood when he saw her, but she didn't bother answering his half-finished offer of coffee. She just stomped into her office and slammed the door as hard as she could (which wasn't very hard, considering it was one of those doors you couldn't really slam shut).

Once she was safely ensconced in her office, she threw her bag down onto the chair in front of her desk and ripped open the note she found in her mailbox before she left the apartment. She glared angrily at the messy scrawl, forming such hateful words. The hateful words of the most dickish lothario neighbor she'd ever had.

And in addition to his insulting letter, he refused to acquiesce to what she deemed a reasonable request and brought home yet another screamer. She was certain it hadn't been the same one, because her screeches were a little more high pitched. But nonetheless, she had the same blatant disregard for Oliver's neighbor as her predecessor. So in addition to being insulted and ignored, she was sleep-deprived.

Of all the ever-loving _nerve_.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to rip the letter to shreds. She wanted to take the letter opener in her drawer and shove it in Oliver Queen's eye. Or maybe use it to saw off his penis, that way he'd never keep her up late at night again.

"Ms. Smoak?"

Felicity whipped her head around. "What?" she snapped.

Poor Eli flinched at her tone, and she felt her ire abate by an inch. "I-I have a couple of messages for y-you…" He reached forward with a bunch of post-its, his hand shaking.

She snatched them from him and waved him away before throwing the messages on her desk. They could wait. They had to wait. She wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything work-related until she could come up with the perfect response to Oliver's missive.

Felicity spent the next few minutes working out her pent-up anger by pacing the length of her office back and forth, listening to the loud clacking of her heels on the hard floor.

She was still pacing almost an hour later when her best friend walked through the door.

"Are you aware that your assistant out there is terrified to even come in here?" Caitlin Snow inquired as she crossed the threshold.

Her only response was to rush to her desk and snatch the letter. "Look at this!" Felicity shrieked, thrusting the scrap of paper in front of her best friend. "Look at what he wrote!"

Caitlin raised her eyebrows and took the note from her. She scanned through it quickly, struggling to suppress a smile. By the time she got to the end, she coughed in what Felicity was sure was a weak attempt to hide her laughter.

"It's not funny!" she insisted. "I swear to God, Oliver Queen is intent on making my life miserable. Well he is going to learn that two can play at this game, and he's also going to learn that I do _not_ play fair."

"Lissy." Caitlin's voice was soothing as she reached forward and placed a gentle hand on Felicity's shoulder. She steered her to the unoccupied chair in front of her desk and forced her to sit down. "Before you start plotting your vengeance, take a seat, take a breath and drink this."

Caitlin handed her a to-go cup of coffee. Automatically Felicity took it and lifted it to her lips, not caring about the scalding temperature.

"Now listen to me. Oliver Queen is nothing more than an oversexed playboy who doesn't deserve a moment of your attention. He's acting like a spoiled brat, but that doesn't mean you have to stoop down to his level, does it?"

She grumbled to herself, but didn't actually give an answer. Caitlin took that to mean Felicity was agreeing with her.

"Okay, so now that we've established that you're better than him, we have to find better ways to deal with this nuisance."

"Smoke bomb his apartment."

"No."

"Dye all his underwear neon orange."

"No."

"Poison."

" _No._ "

Felicity grimaced at her best friend. "I think this would actually go faster if you would just tell me what you want me to say."

Caitlin shook her head. "Maybe you aren't better than him after all."

She sighed. "You want me to say something passive, don't you? Something like talk to the landlord, or soundproof my walls, or invest in a pair of good earplugs, right?"

"Yeah, something like that. I was also about to suggest you knock on his door, introduce yourself as a disgruntled neighbor and ask him _politely_ to try to keep it down."

Felicity scrunched up her nose. Like hell she was going to do _that_. She'd rather relive all of middle school than knock on that asshole's door. But she did have to grudgingly admit that she'd been acting less like her normal chipper self lately and more like some deranged maniac.

"Fine," she muttered. "I'll go looking for earplugs tonight."

"Atta girl," Caitlin nodded approvingly.

After Felicity left work, she stopped at the nearest pharmacy, because it was the only place she could think of that would sell the really good earplugs that would block everything out, and after listening to two months of Oliver Queen's sexual conquests, she was going to need it. Especially since it was a Friday night, and he was sure as shit bringing someone back to his place.

With her errands finished, she went home, ate dinner, caught up on a week's worth of television and got some reading done, but all she really wanted to do was fall asleep, considering it had been such a commodity as of late. So at 9 p.m. on a Friday evening, she flipped social convention a metaphorical bird and climbed into bed, the wax earplugs she bought earlier that evening sitting snugly in her ears.

And...well, you know, the best laid plans.

Four hours later, she woke to a dull thumping on the other side of the wall, and despite their best efforts, her earplugs just couldn't make it go away.

Groaning, she turned over and pulled a pillow over her head, hoping in vain that the added cushion could block the noise.

Just _how_ did a guy get laid by different women _this_ often? She wondered to herself. She'd seen his picture on tabloids everywhere, so she was smart enough to admit he wasn't unattractive, but all the good looks in the world couldn't get you _this much sex_. How had he not gotten an STD? How had he not fathered an illegitimate child? How had his dick not fallen off yet?

Well, enough was enough, Felicity firmly thought to herself. Caitlin might have had more faith in her being a better person, but she was only as good as her last night's sleep. And that last night's sleep happened to be terrible.

She dragged her exhausted body out of bed and pulled her laptop open on her desk. If there was one thing she knew about sex, it was that setting the mood was super important. So she decided to pay her neighbor back by helping him out with the mood.

Once her computer was up and running, she ran her programs and hacked into her neighbor's wifi. From there, she located a stereo system connected to his Internet. Then, with the most wicked grin on her face, she hit play as viciously as she could.

The thumping of Oliver Queen's sexcapades was soon joined by a different kind of thumping altogether. The electronic beat of the bass reverberated through the floor, through the walls, through the ceiling. Not long after the music started, the lyrics chimed in. The walls dulled the sound, but the words were still discernible.

" _If it hadn't been for Cotton-Eye Joe, I'd been married long time ago. Where did you come from? Where did you go? Where did you come from, Cotton-Eye Joe?"_

The creak of the bed springs stopped. Then she heard some muffled words shouting over the deafening music. Confused voices stumbled around for a few minutes while the techno beat bounced and the singer twanged. Finally, they seemed to have located the source of the music, because as abruptly as it started, it stopped.

But Felicity wasn't done yet. She had to make this woman go home if she had any hope of getting a good night's sleep. So before they could get any funny ideas, she hit the next song on the playlist.

The voices on the other side were talking and chuckling when all of a sudden the wail of bagpipes blared through the thin wall. It took them less time to turn the stereo off now that they knew where the sound was coming from, but once the bagpipes were gone, the female voice sounded much more irritated.

And for the final touch, Felicity thought smugly to herself as she hit the next song.

The acoustic guitar started strong, followed by Chad Kroger's grating voice.

" _Look at this photograph. Every time I do it makes me laugh."_

It sounded like the woman finally had it. Her voice had a distinct screech and Felicity could make out the words, " _I'm done!"_ followed by stomping and the sound of a slamming door.

She threw her fist in the air in triumph at the sign of the woman's exit. Tonight, she could _finally_ get some sleep.


	3. Oh, it's on now

**Chapter 3: Oh, it's on now**

Oliver knew for sure his next-door-neighbor was behind this.

He couldn't prove it or anything. Like how can you prove that your neighbor _on the other side of the wall_ managed to turn on your stereo in the middle of the night? How was that even possible?

But it had to be Felicity, because the only other explanation was ghosts, and he didn't hold much stock in ghost stories.

After Helena stormed off in a huff, he spent the rest of the evening examining his stereo, trying to think of how she might have done it. The wall was obviously thin enough that his neighbor could hear everything going on in his bedroom, but was it thin enough that she could have controlled his stereo with a universal remote? And how could she have even set up a universal remote to his stereo? Come to think of it, would a universal remote even _work_ on his stereo? The thing was really expensive, top of the line and only available in Japan and select Western European countries. He could control it with his remote, his phone and by voice command. It could play thousands of satellite radio stations in addition to the normal, land-based ones, and it could stream music from every Internet music service, and the bluetooth capabilities could play music from his phone.

Bottom line, it was a very sophisticated piece of technology, and very sophisticated pieces of technology didn't start spontaneously playing "Cotton Eye Joe" in the middle of the night. Not without some sort of vindictive help.

Oliver should have been annoyed, since his neighbor had found a really effective cockblock. But for some reason, he wasn't. Instead, he was more impressed than ever. Felicity had once again proven herself smarter than he expected.

He glanced over at their shared wall as he sipped on his morning coffee. The key to a good prank war was finding what exactly you were at war over, then exacerbating it. In this case, Felicity was annoyed that his sexual escapades were disrupting her sleeping patterns, so she was making sure he couldn't get laid.

So the key really was to continue disrupting her sleeping patterns and finding the best way to do that.

With that in mind, he wracked his brain as he looked around his apartment, hoping to draw inspiration from his surroundings. When his eyes landed on his old Nintendo 64 console, the corners of his mouth lifted in an automatic grin.

Immediately he got to work, pushing the huge, expensive Bose speaker towers that were remotely connected to the flat screen TV in his bedroom up against the shared wall. Then he started unplugging his consoles and hooking it up to the same TV. And for good measure, he pulled the plug on the compromised stereo.

Six hours later, his best friend was knocking on his door with a six pack underneath each arm and a bag of takeout.

"Of all nights, you picked this one," Tommy Merlyn grumbled the minute Oliver opened the door.

"Why, what's wrong with tonight?"

"Alicia promised she'd go out with me tonight!" he shouted. "This was my chance! I was finally going to go all the way with her and you ruined it!"

Oliver quirked his eyebrow upward. "You could have gone, you know. It's not like I had a gun to your head."

Tommy set the beer down on the kitchen table and held up his hand with the most serious look Oliver had ever seen his friend wear. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. First of all, you are my best friend and you invited me over. Second of all, you invited me over to get drunk and play Mario Kart. Saying yes to the first thing is like automatic dude code. Saying yes to the second thing is Tommy Merlyn code, and I don't want to be in breach of either."

Oliver chuckled and knocked the cap off two beers. "Well cheers to that," he said, handing his friend one of the bottles. They clinked the tops, then simultaneously took huge swigs.

The two of them brought all the supplies into Oliver's bedroom and got settled on the floor. When Tommy saw the speakers pushed up against the wall, he raised his eyebrows. "You want to explain whatever's going on there?"

"Nope."

Tommy just shrugged and plopped down next to his friend. "Okay, whatever."

* * *

Under any other circumstance, Felicity Smoak would have appreciated the sounds of the classic Mario Kart. It was the familiar soundtrack to her childhood, and she of all people had a deep and abiding respect for the game.

She could not, however, respect it at the moment because it was currently blaring through the razor-thin wall she shared with her asshat neighbor.

This was retaliation. She knew for a fact it was. Oliver may have been a billionaire playboy, but that didn't automatically make him an idiot or anything. He'd clearly figured out she was behind the spontaneous sexual serenade from the night before and now he was paying her back by cranking to the max what she was sure were expensive surround sound speakers and playing what sounded like a very vicious round of a game she had previously loved but was now beginning to loathe.

" _SON OF A BITCH!"_ a slightly muffled voice shouted from the other side of the wall. The curse was followed by smug cackling and the sounds of a clear victory.

She groaned as she grabbed the nearest pillow and pushed it over her face. There was no way to turn the speakers down remotely (she'd tried every way she could have thought of), and from the sounds, it was the old school Mario Kart on the original Nintendo 64 console. Meaning she couldn't hack into the WiFi in his apartment and turn it off either.

" _Suck it, Merlyn!"_ She heard the yell of triumph, then the clatter of what sounded like someone throwing a controller onto a hard surface.

" _You're a shitty cheat, Queen! Just like your mother!"_

There was deep, rumbling laughter. " _And you're a shitty loser, Merlyn. In addition to being a loser in general."_

" _That was the lamest comeback in the world, and you know it."_

More clattering, then some muted rustling. Felicity imagined that the two of them were wrestling, trying to get the other person to take back their comment.

Truthfully, even though Felicity had tried her damnedest to stop the cacophony, she couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit endeared. Most of the noise she'd heard coming from her neighbor's apartment was the sounds of obnoxious sex, which led to a deserved hatred on her part toward his antics.

But this was the first time she'd ever heard him in a different social environment. Hearing his lighthearted banter with someone she assumed was a close friend made him feel that much more human to her. The insults and the goading and the laughter reminded her of all the times she'd had marathon Mario Kart sessions in college with her own friends.

So at the moment, she couldn't bring herself to hate the guy, even though he was trying to turn her into a sleep-deprived zombie. And she grudgingly had to admit that anyone who would spend a Saturday night in playing Mario Kart might not be as awful as she originally thought.

"Damn it," she grumbled at the shared wall. "You win this round, Queen."

But mark her words, she thought to herself as she rolled over and brought her other pillow down once again over her face, she was going to get the last laugh in this war if it was the last thing she did.


	4. Surprise, bitch!

**Chapter 4: Surprise, bitch!**

There were a lot of perks to being part owner of a night club. One of them was having a reserved corner booth every night, without fail.

Oliver was sitting in said corner booth by himself while he watched his friend tear it up on the dance floor. Tommy, as usual, was grinding up on a gorgeous woman in a tight blue dress with long, wavy brown hair and sultry brown eyes. She'd initially introduced herself as Caitlin, but the thumping music had drowned out a last name.

While Tommy was putting the moves on his conquest for the night, Oliver had yet to find anyone who caught his attention. It wasn't for lack of trying, though; plenty of women had sauntered past the table very slowly, hoping to get an invite to sit next to him. But none of them stood out.

A few minutes later, Tommy and the girl he was dancing with collapsed into the booth next to him. "Yo, Ollie!" Tommy yelled over the bass with his infectious grin. "Why aren't you out there?"

Oliver shrugged in response. "Not feeling it, I guess."

Caitlin, who was on Tommy's other side, was busy texting on her phone. "Hey, would you mind if my friend Lissy joined us?"

"Who?" Oliver shouted.

"Lissy! I dragged her out with me tonight and she's just hanging by the bar swatting away all the creepers."

"Sure!" Tommy yelled. "The more the merrier!"

Five minutes later, a blonde woman emerged from the gyrating crowd and approached the table. For the first time all night, Oliver took a second look.

She was gorgeous. There wasn't any other word for it. She had long, curled blonde hair that dangled near her waist and blue eyes so bright that he could see them even in the dark haze of the club. And she was wearing a strapless red dress that hugged every single one of her incredible curves, showing off a rear end that had its own gravitational pull, considering every single male gaze in close proximity was trained on it.

"Lissy!" Caitlin shouted. She gestured wildly for her to join them in the booth and the woman sauntered over in her gold heels.

"I've been looking for you," Lissy yelled over the music. "You promised you wouldn't abandon me if we went out tonight!"

"Sorry." But Caitlin grinned like she was anything but. "Guys, this is my friend Lissy."

Tommy shook her hand as he introduced himself. Oliver went for his turn, and she smirked at him. The look in her eyes sent goosebumps spreading all over his skin. It was like her deep blue irises could see straight through him.

"I'm Oliver Queen."

"I know."

Hand to God, he felt his heart stop in his chest.

Lissy and Caitlin chattered to themselves, too low for either Tommy or Oliver to hear. A few seconds later, their conversation seemed to have ended because Caitlin grabbed Tommy's hand once again and dragged him out to the dance floor. It left Oliver alone in the booth with Lissy, which was exactly where he wanted to be.

"So," he began as he scooted closer to her. "No offense or anything, but you don't look like the kind of girl who frequents clubs like this."

She laughed and Oliver was mesmerized by how her smile lit up her already gorgeous face. "Very astute, Mr. Queen."

"Please, just call me Oliver! Mr. Queen's my dad."

She smiled right at him. "OK. Oliver."

He felt a shiver run down his spine at the way her voice caressed his name. It was like experiencing true art for the first time, the way it was meant to be experienced. Like he'd never known his name before it slipped from her gorgeous lips.

He imagined her saying it under different circumstances. He imagined her sighing it as he ran his tongue down the graceful column of her neck, over her collarbones and down her chest. He imagined drawing it from her lips in sighs and groans, like a prayer as he worshipped her body with his.

He'd never wanted anything more in his life.

"So," he cleared his throat, leaning in a little closer. "What brings you out here tonight?"

She gestured to the dance floor, where Caitlin was swaying to the beat of the thumping music, her back pressed firmly against Tommy's as they moved together. "Caitlin dragged me out. She said I needed to let loose after a particularly stressful work week."

"Oh yeah? And how's the letting loose part going for you?"

"Not well, I'm afraid."

Oliver nodded, like he was deep in thought. "Well, I happen to be the master of letting loose."

Lissy smirked and _God_ how he wanted to kiss that expression right off her lips. "So I've heard."

He smiled, then turned to the closest waitress and waved his hand to catch her attention. "Two gin and tonics, please." Then he turned back to the beautiful woman sitting beside him. "The first rule of letting loose: alcohol. And lots of it."

The waitress returned with the drinks in record time. Oliver handed one of the drinks to Lissy and they clinked their glasses together. "To letting loose," he said.

"To letting loose," she murmured. Then she lifted the tumbler to her lips and he couldn't help but watch, mesmerized as her painted lips wrapped around the edge and sipped on the liquid. He'd never found anything so sexy in his entire life.

She drained half of her glass, then set it back on the table. "So, Oliver. Tell me — what else are you a master at?"

The smoky tone of her voice made him gulp. Damn, he thought. It had been _years_ since he was tongue-tied around a woman, and even when he was stupid teenager he'd never been nearly this affected. This Lissy woman was getting to him. Hard.

"Quite a few things," he murmured. Their faces were inches apart, her eyes boring into his like drills straight into his soul. "Would you like me to show you?"

Her lips split into an almost predatory grin. "Show me on the dance floor."

He didn't need to be told twice. He got to his feet and held his hand out to her, and he led her out on the dance floor until they were in the middle of it. It was where all the bright, moving lights and the thumping bass converged, so the shadows of every movement looked even more dramatic and they could feel the music vibrating in their bones.

Without another word, he pulled Lissy's body up against his. She threw her arms over his shoulders and locked his gaze with hers as she swayed against his body. Then her hands wandered up his neck and into his hair and he sucked in a sharp breath as her nails gently scraped against his scalp.

His arms found their way around her waist, his hand splayed across the small of her back. She obliged his move by grinding her hips, in time with the music. She smiled before catching her thick bottom lip with her teeth.

They danced like this for what felt like hours. Every move she made drove Oliver insane with need until he couldn't take being clothed in her presence for another second.

Her back was pressed to his chest, so he leaned forward, pulling her hair from her ear. "Hey," he whispered. "How do you feel about getting out of here?"

She shot him a heartbreaker of a grin over her shoulder. "That sounds amazing."

And that was all he needed to hear. He grabbed her hand and together they pushed their way off the dance floor. A nod at the doorman told them to get the town car ready, and the minute they were outside, the black, nondescript SUV sat on the street waiting for them.

"Ladies first," he smiled as the driver got out and opened the door for them both. Lissy slid into the interior and Oliver admired how her ass looked as she bent over to climb into the vehicle.

He sent Tommy a quick text to let him know that he'd left the club and was heading back to his apartment. Then the minute he put his phone away, he turned to the beautiful woman beside him, but she beat him to the punch. In an instant, her hand was on his face and she pressed her lips hard against his.

The kiss was a needy one. It was all tongue and teeth, desire pulsing between them. Lissy's hands started wandering, first down his face, down his neck and down his chest until they came to a rest over his tight pants. He groaned loudly as she squeezed his bulge over his jeans.

"Looks like someone's packing," she smirked against his mouth.

God, she felt incredible. Her hands were all over his body, but he in no way was keeping his own hands to himself. Without thinking, he pulled her forward until she was straddling him, the junction of her legs hovering right over him.

"You are incredible," he whispered as he stared up at her in awe. She just grinned back at him and moved her mouth against his once more.

Finally — _finally_ — the car stopped outside his apartment building. Oliver didn't bother to wait for the driver to get the door. He was far too impatient for that. In an instant he was out and so was Lissy, her hand in his as he raced into the building.

Once they got into the elevator, his mouth had once again found hers. He had her pressed up against the wall and the breathless moans she made had him seriously considering pulling the emergency stop so he could take her right then and there. But eventually the bell rang, signalling they made it to his floor and together they stumbled out.

Lissy was giggling once they reached his apartment door. As he fumbled for the keys in his pocket, she grabbed the lapel of his sports jacket and forced him to face her.

This kiss was different. It was slower this time. She took her time, moving her plump, swollen lips over his, running her tongue along his bottom lip, then over the roof of his mouth. It practically made his knees buckle.

When she finally pulled away, she gave him a soft smile. "Thanks for the ride."

And before he had the chance to decipher her strange words, she turned and walked down the hall until she reached the door right next to his. His next-door neighbor's apartment.

Felicity's apartment.

Then she pulled out a set of keys and unlocked it. And with one last wink in his direction, she disappeared through the door and slammed it shut behind her.


	5. Well done, kid

**Chapter 5: Well done, kid**

Felicity woke up late Sunday morning well-rested and in a fantastic mood.

She'd hold onto the memory of Oliver Queen's dumbstruck face as she walked away from him and slipped back into her apartment for a very long time. Possibly forever.

In fact, she was willing to wager that she was the only woman in Starling City who ever walked away from a chance to spend a night with the famous Oliver Queen.

It felt damn good to be distinguished like that.

A few minutes after she woke, the phone on her bedside table buzzed. She rolled over and yanked it off the charger to see a text from Caitlin.

 _I'm hungover. I need mimosas and details_

Felicity chuckled and pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes as she typed out her response.

 _Deal. Brunch at The Blue Umbrella in half an hour?_

The phone buzzed once again with her best friend's answer.

 _Make it a full hour and you're on_

Felicity arrived at their brunch spot at the designated time. Caitlin was already waiting for her at a table on the patio, taking refuge under the shade of a gigantic blue canvas umbrella and a pair of aviators.

"Ugh, you look annoyingly well-rested," Caitlin groaned as she pushed a glass of water toward her best friend.

"Yep," Felicity chirped. "I got a good night's sleep on a Saturday. For once."

Caitlin perked up at that. "Yeah," she nodded as she leaned forward. "I want to hear all about it. The last I saw was you and Oliver slinking off the dance floor, him practically dragging you through the crowd and out of the club."

Felicity smirked and started the story. She told Caitlin about how they grinded up on each other on the dance floor for almost two hours, nonstop. She used every dance move at her disposal to get him as frustrated as he could, until he invited her back to his apartment. Then, she described in the fifteen-minute ride back in full, explicit clarity.

Halfway through the story, Caitlin had to lean back in her chair and fan herself. "Damn," she sighed. "Felicity Meghan Smoak, you are living the fucking dream."

"I'm not done yet."

Then Felicity dove into the pièce de résistance. How she left the great Oliver Queen hanging in the doorway of his apartment by leaving him with a kiss and a smile he wasn't likely to forget any time soon before disappearing into her own apartment.

When she finished her story, Caitlin's jaw was practically dangling two inches off the ground. "Damn, Lissy!"

She smiled gloatingly as she lifted her mimosa glass to her lips and took a long swig.

"Girl, I have to hand it to you though," Caitlin continued, "I don't know _how_ you had the strength to walk away from that. I mean, did you see that boy? He's like one fine-as-hell specimen and from the way you talk about the car ride back, you had to have the strength of Wonder Woman herself to walk away from that."

Felicity shrugged at that. Yeah, Caitlin was right. There was a part of her brain that really wanted to follow Oliver into that apartment door. That wanted to let him unzip her dress while she pushed his sport coat off his broad shoulders. That wanted to wrap her legs around his sexy waist while he carried her to his bedroom. That wanted to see if he could make her scream as loudly as all his other sexual partners.

But then she remembered with distaste just how many different women she heard him bring into his bed in the short time she lived in the apartment next to his, and she knew that she would rather be known as the only woman in Starling City to walk away from Oliver Queen than just another notch in his worn-out bed post.

Nope, she thought to herself. She'd hold on to this feeling of deep satisfaction at knowing that she had officially won the prank war. And there was nothing he could do now that could dampen her spirit.

* * *

Oliver was _not_ eavesdropping on his neighbor.

No, eavesdropping would have implied that his neighbor was there in the first place, and saying things that he could overhear. As it was, Felicity was apparently not in her apartment at all. He'd been pressing his ear against their shared wall ever since he woke up from his fitful sleep, and there was no noise whatsoever. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

Hours after Lissy had revealed herself to be his next-door neighbor, he had to admit that she won. This prank war was firmly in her win column. He wasn't a sore enough loser to try and take this victory away from her.

He was, however, fixated on her.

He couldn't forget how she danced with him, swayed against his body, pressed her back against his chest. He also couldn't forget how her tongue dragged down his jaw and along the column of his neck, sucking on his pressure point as she carded her fingers through his short hair in that elevator. He couldn't get the smell of her perfume out of his nose. It was all over his clothes from the night before, which were now strewn all over the floor of his bedroom. Hence her smell lingered in the air, even though she'd never stepped foot in his apartment.

Damn it, he thought to himself as he scrubbed his hands over his face. He was hooked and he knew it.

The only thing he could think to do at that moment (other than sit vigil by the wall, waiting for her to come home) was to call his sister at college.

After a few rings, Thea picked up. "Big bro!" she crowed on her end. "To what do I owe this marvelous pleasure?"

"I need your help, Speedy," he began. Then from there, he launched into the whole story. He told her about how it all started with a passive aggressive note, turned into an escalating war between next-door neighbors until it culminated in him unknowingly trying to hook up with the very same woman he'd been purposely trying to get a rise out of for the past month or so.

When he finished the tale, his sister let out an incredulous laugh. "You really did it this time, Ollie."

He sighed. "Can you just tell me how to fix this, please?"

Thea hummed in thought. "What was her name again?"

"Felicity. And the name on her mailbox in the lobby says Smoak. So Felicity Smoak."

"Oh. That name rings a bell. I think Dad talked about promoting an IT girl a few months ago named Felicity Smoak. She's now in charge of applied sciences. Apparently she's brilliant."

Yes, he thought triumphantly to himself. He had a clue.

"What else did Dad say about her? Do you remember?"

"You were there too, you know," she pointed out with mild annoyance.

"Yeah, but you know I never pay attention to Dad when he's talking about the company."

She sighed. "He said she's one of the smartest hires he's made in years. She graduated the top of her class at MIT, and right out of college he snatched her away from a job offer at Wayne Enterprises."

Oliver made a face at the name. He knew Bruce Wayne in Gotham City, and he didn't like the idea of Felicity having to work for him. Even if the tabloids constantly compared their partying, philandering ways.

"OK, so she's clearly smart," he said.

"She's more than smart," Thea answered. "She's a genius. So if you want to hook up with her or get her date you, you're going to have to be smart about it too."

His sister was right. As he'd learned, Felicity was far different than any woman he'd ever met. She knew more than to be impressed with any of his usual tricks. She could also see right through him. In fact, she might be the only woman who wasn't related to him who could.

Hours after Oliver had hung up with his sister, he was still mapping out his next move. It was time to start a new war. A different war. A war for Felicity's affections.

But how to do it? He was lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling above him as he pondered the question. Then he suddenly heard a weird banging on the other side of his wall.

It was the first sign of life he'd heard from his neighbor's side and he jumped up to listen. He mildly realized that this could be considered a form of creepy stalking, but no one could really blame him. Not when he couldn't get the memory of her body pressed against his out of his mind.

Oliver was straining his ears, trying to figure out what was happening on the other side. But after a minute, the straining became unnecessary. He heard a sudden loud bang, followed by a steady stream of the most creative curses he had ever heard in his life.

" _Goddamn it! Stupid fucking table! Stupid, piece of shit, motherfucking bitch ass, twat-swatting pile of FUCK! "_

His eyes widened in surprise while his mouth pulled up in an unexpected smile.

" _Fucking IKEA! Fuck their tables! Fuck their furniture! Fuck their meatballs! I mean what the shit is this? What even ARE these instructions? WHAT THE SHIT DOES ANY OF THIS EVEN MEAN? Who the fuck writes instructions like this? Who the fuck CAN READ instructions like this? I didn't major in obscure Swedish hieroglyphics!"_

He put a hand over his mouth to keep his giggles quiet, but it got more and more difficult with each frustrated growl.

" _What the fuck is this piece even supposed to do? WHY THE HELL IS THERE A LEFTOVER SCREW? GODDAMN IT!"_

Oliver tried to picture the scene in his head. He imagined the beautiful Felicity, her hair a mess as she sat on the floor uttering every curse she knew as she tried to piece together an IKEA table. For whatever reason, this woman was a genius but it seemed her kryptonite came in the form of impossible, Scandinavian furniture.

He didn't know why, but that endeared her to him even more.

There was another loud thump and a bang. It sounded like perhaps she'd thrown a piece across the room.

" _Ugh, why is this so complicated? Putting together a simple coffee table shouldn't. Be. So. Fucking. Complicated!"_

Every word was punctuated with a loud bang, like she was bringing a hammer down on something solid, like a rock. Or a diamond. Oliver practically had to stuff his mouth into his first to keep himself from laughing loud enough for the whole building to hear.

" _You know what? Fuck this. Fuck this shit, fuck this fucking table, fuck IKEA."_

That was the last thing he heard before another loud bang and the slam of a door. He assumed she'd taken a break from trying to assemble her table to cool off before starting over. Or maybe she wasn't starting over. Maybe she decided the cheap table wasn't worth the cost to her mental health and had given up altogether. He hoped for her sake that she chose the latter.

As funny as it was to hear her lose her cool over a table, the incident put into perspective just how justified Felicity's frustrations with him were. Good lord, he thought. If he could hear her that crystal clear, imagine how easily she could hear everything he did on this side of the wall.

Well no wonder she hated him.

He settled back onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling, once again lost in thought. His thoughts wandered to IKEA. He'd never actually set foot in a store before. He'd never had to put together a piece of furniture before, really. All the furniture he bought had come already assembled. Even his coffee table had been a housewarming gift from Tommy.

Suddenly, it came to him like an epiphany.

He knew how to get her attention.


	6. Neighbor War 2point0

**Chapter 6: Neighbor War 2.0**

On any other Monday, Felicity would have been thrilled to end an exhausting work day by coming home and falling face first into her couch.

This Monday, however, she was not looking forward to opening the door of her apartment, because she knew what waited for her on the other side. She left the unassembled pieces of her IKEA coffee table strewn around her living room. She'd gotten too frustrated with the whole process that she gave up and hadn't even bothered to clean up the mess.

The minute she opened the door, she'd be greeted with signs of her failure and she just didn't know if she could deal with that.

With a heavy, resigned sigh, she unlocked her apartment door and stepped over the threshold. But much to her surprise, the mess of IKEA furniture parts she expected was no longer there.

In its place was a gorgeous, sleek glass coffee table that sat atop spindly, wrought iron legs. It looked like the kind of piece one might find in a modern art museum, but it somehow didn't clash with all the bright furniture in her living room. Instead, it raised the level of sophistication. Right in the center sat a deep blue orchid, potted in a gray ceramic planter and filled with smooth pebbles. And right next to the flower was a neon green post-it note.

Felicity blinked at the table several times, thinking that it was some sort of speck on her visual windshield and her eyelids were the windshield wipers and every time she blinked, it would wipe the speck away. But after blinking for like a full minute, the table was still there.

She took a few incredulous steps toward the table to pick up the post-it note. Scrawled out in a messy script was the following message:

 _Consider this an apology for all the sleepless nights._

— _O.Q._

O.Q.? She racked her brain trying to figure out who the hell O.Q. could have been, but then it hit her like a battering ram.

"Holy shit," she murmured.

Oliver Queen.

 _Oliver Queen_ bought her a new coffee table.

Felicity wasn't entirely sure what to do with this information. What in the world was someone like Oliver Queen doing, buying her a coffee table. After she tried to make sure he didn't get laid and after she tricked him the night before, why was he buying her clearly expensive pieces of furniture?

She had about a billion questions (the least of which was how the fuck did he get into her apartment), but she glanced down once again at the simple note. Maybe he _was_ just trying to make up for being such a shitty neighbor.

And, well, she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Especially since it meant she wouldn't have to go back to IKEA.

It had been a week since Oliver gave her the coffee table and he hadn't received so much as a thank you.

It was starting to get ridiculous, he thought to himself as he frantically paced the length of his bedroom. For crying out loud, he wasn't expecting her to grovel at his feet or anything, but he was at least expecting some sort of note. Anything. A post-it would have been fine.

But no. All was quiet on the western front, and he meant that most literally. He hadn't heard a peep from her side of the wall since her battle with the failed IKEA table.

It was time to step up his offensive, he thought to himself. He needed to find a way to meet her in person, and he knew just how to do it.

Unfortunately, this next skirmish meant a few sacrifices for the cause. But, he thought to himself as he stared at the closed laptop on his desk with determination — every war had a few casualties. This was no exception.

* * *

"Miss Smoak?"

Felicity glanced up from her desk to see her assistant, Eli, standing in front of her with the most pitiful look of terror she'd ever seen.

"Eli?" she asked with concern. "What's wrong? Are you OK?"

He nodded, but it was a jerky, shaky kind of movement that meant he was definitely _not_ OK. "You have a visitor to see you."

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh. Um, all right. Go ahead and send them in."

Eli didn't need to be told twice — he fled from her presence as fast as his big feet could carry him. But a few seconds later, she understood just why he'd been so scared.

Oliver Queen stepped into her office in all his gorgeous glory. He wore a dark green henley paired with dark wash jeans and a light, brown leather jacket and messenger bag hanging on his shoulder. And he was smiling at her like he wanted something.

And there was no way, _in the world_ , she was going to admit that his smile did things to her.

"Felicity Smoak?" he asked in that charming voice of is. "I was told that you were the person to come see about computer problems."

It was the first time she'd seen him since that night at Verdant. She hadn't talked to him since, and she hadn't said anything since he broke into her apartment and gave her a very nice and very expensive coffee table. Automatically her guard went up.

"What are you doing here?" she asked warily.

He took a seat on one of the chairs in front of her desk. "Well, you see, Felicity, I realized the other day that we were never properly introduced to one another. And that should change, don't you think? After all, we are next-door neighbors."

Felicity didn't say anything. She just watched him with distrustful eyes. He was gunning for something here, but she didn't know what. Maybe revenge? For making him look like a fool? For sending him home on a Saturday night with blue balls? What was his deal here?

"Anyway, let me introduce myself. Hi, my name is Oliver Queen, and I recently ran into some computer problems. I mentioned it to my dad this morning, and he suggested that I come see you."

He pulled a sleek black laptop out of his bag and laid it on her desk. "I was at my coffee shop when I accidentally spilled a latte on my computer." He let out a long sigh that didn't fool her for a minute. "In addition to all the keys being sticky and gross, the screen went all haywire. I was hoping you'd be able to salvage the information on there."

Automatically she took the machine from him and clicked her tongue in admonishment. "You poor thing," she murmured as she ran her hand over the damaged computer. It hurt her to see a piece of equipment like that in such pain.

"Is there anything you'd be able to do?" he asked.

Felicity looked up from the laptop and sighed. "I'm sure I can get the information off of it, but just taking a cursory glance, it looks like the hardwire is fried. You're going to have to get a new one."

He nodded. "Yeah, I figured as much. Well, I'd really appreciate any help you can provide."

She hummed to herself as she kept her eyes on the broken machine in front of her. What were her options here? It's not like she could really ignore this request, considering he was her boss' son and his name was on the side of the dang building. Plus, she couldn't ignore anyone's computer problems on moral grounds. It was like if a doctor passed someone bleeding on the side of the road. Even if she was off duty, she had a moral obligation to stop and help them. Hippocratic oath and all that.

With a sigh, she bent down underneath her desk to retrieve her work laptop. Then she hooked it up to Oliver's damaged machine and in seconds she had her programs up and running. All the while, she kept her eyes cast downward to avoid looking at him, because every time she did she would inconveniently forget things, like why she hated him in the first place. Or the fact that he was a philandering lothario. Or her name.

"Is it working?" he asked.

"Does a bear shit in the woods?" she retorted.

Her response earned a laugh out of him and she felt herself grin in spite of herself. "Yes, it's working. Just give me a few minutes."

As the information transfer began, Oliver started talking. And even though she made a promise to herself to ignore him, it wasn't really working.

"So do you prefer people to call you Lissy or Felicity?"

She kept her eyes on the screen as she watched the bar load. Not looking at him seemed like the safest bet at the moment. "Caitlin's the only person allowed to call me Lissy."

"Why's that?"

"She's my best friend," Felicity answered flatly. "We've known each other since elementary school, before I outgrew my nickname."

"Ah, so it's a childhood nickname."

"Yes." The information transfer was complete and she turned and grabbed an empty flash drive out of her drawer. "As I imagine 'Ollie' is for you."

That was the only time she allowed herself to steal a glance. The minute she let his nickname slip, he made a face that told her he wasn't quite fond of it anymore. It made her quirk her lips upward ever so slightly.

"Point taken," he sighed.

Once she got all the files on the flash drive, she turned off the fallen machine and handed it back, the flash drive sitting on top of it.

"Here you go," she said. "Try not to spill anything on the flash drive."

"I won't, I promise," he grinned. His hand brushed slightly against hers and the touch was enough to send little electric shivers through her body. She quickly snatched her hands away once the items were safely in his grasp.

He stuffed the flash drive and the computer back into his bag and stood from his seat with a smile warm enough to light a fire in her chest. "Felicity Smoak, you are remarkable."

Oh shit, she thought to herself as her heart skipped a beat. She swallowed hard around the golf ball in her throat in a desperate attempt to sound normal.

"Thank you for remarking on it."


	7. The Internet is for porn

**Chapter 7: The Internet is for Porn**

It had been a few days since the spilled latte incident, and it turned out about as well as Oliver could have hoped for.

Now, it was time for the next battle.

Armed with a bottle of expensive red wine and the latest issue of Wired magazine, he knocked on Felicity's door. It opened a few seconds later to reveal the young woman herself dressed in nothing but a thin lavender tank top and rainbow-colored pajama tops.

It was fucking adorable.

"Hi," he greeted with a grin.

"Oliver," she said in surprise. "I — what — I mean, what in the world are you doing here?"

"I need your help again," he answered, his face turning sheepish. "I promise I didn't spill anything, but the thing is, I have no idea what kind of computer to get now that mine's trashed. Since you're the computer expert, I thought you might be willing to give me some advice."

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him, like she was trying to suss out whether he was telling the truth or if this was once again some elaborate ploy. He stood there trying to look as innocent as possible.

"Is that a bottle of '82 Lafite Rothschild you have in your hands?" she asked.

He didn't bother hiding the fact that he was surprised by her good eye. "You sure know your wines."

She examined him one last time before letting out a sigh and opening the door all the way. It was a silent invitation inside her home, one he took readily.

Once he crossed the threshold, he took in as much of the space as she could. Everything was bright and open — her couch was made of aquamarine upholstery, while the armchair next to it was orange. A huge potted fern sat by the windowsill, and on the opposite side of the couch was a widescreen, plasma television set into a floor-to-ceiling entertainment center, filled with DVDs, books and knick knacks. Some of them he could easily identify — like the Avengers action figures — but some of the others he couldn't. Like the midnight blue phone booth next to what looked like a salt shaker.

"Take a seat." She gestured to the breakfast bar, complete with floral painted stools.

He did as she asked while she padded around her kitchen barefoot. It was endearing to watch, how she slid open a cutlery drawer to grab a corkscrew, then nudged it closed with a push from her hip. Or how she had to stand on her very tip toes to pull two wine glasses off the top shelf of her cabinets.

"Your apartment's lovely," Oliver told her. "It's very bright."

"Thanks," she answered flatly. "But I don't think it's the first time you've seen it."

He frowned for a second, unsure of what she meant. But then he remembered the coffee table.

"Oh, I didn't break in, if that's what you mean," he assured her. "I just ordered the table, then warned the landlord that you had a furniture delivery, but you wouldn't be able to let them into the apartment."

She paused to stare at him. "Really?"

He nodded. "Yeah. The super was more than happy to let them in. Though from what I understand, the mess you left behind from the IKEA table was a little difficult to clean up."

He must have passed the visual lie detector test, because she finally let go of her suspicious glare and gave into the tiniest smile. "Well. I never did say thank you for the table. So thank you."

"You're welcome."

There was a brief pause between the two of them while Oliver searched for what to say next. Finally, he put the bottle on the table and gestured for her to take it. She did so without hesitation, putting the corkscrew in.

"So you need help trying to pick out a new computer?" she asked as she worked.

"Yeah," he answered. "It's just been so long since I've had to go computer shopping, and I don't know what I need."

Felicity poured the wine, and she immediately went into the merits of different machines, different manufacturers and different operating systems. The onslaught of information made Oliver's head spin.

"So really, it depends on what you'll be using it for," she said as she took a seat next to him and flipped open the magazine he brought with him. "I assume you'll mostly be using it to watch porn?"

He raised an eyebrow at her while she held his gaze with a straight face. But she couldn't keep it up for very long, because in just a few seconds she was giggling.

And damn if he couldn't help himself, but the giggling made him want to kiss her. Pretty much everything she did made him want to kiss her.

"Contrary to popular belief, I know how to use the Internet for things that aren't porn," he said wryly.

She let out a few more chuckles. "All right, then. What do you plan on using it for?"

"Well ideally I'd like to have something portable, to take with me easily," he answered. "Something to help keep track of inventory at Verdant. Something to help me keep track of appointments. Birthdays. Stupid galas my mother makes me go to. Things like that."

Felicity snorted. "Got a lot of those, do you?"

"Unfortunately."

She let out a chime-like laugh. "Well in that case, I suggest you opt for a Chromebook." She pulled out her own tablet and pulled up the specs for the machine she suggested. She went through the features of the machine, highlighting what he could use it for and how lightweight it was, making it ideal for his lifestyle.

He tried to pay attention to the words she was saying, but it was difficult. He was distracted by how she spoke with her hands, or how her eyes lit up when she was highlighting a feature she was particularly excited about, or the way she babbled a little bit when he stayed quiet. He found himself staying quiet a lot, just see what would come out of her mouth to fill the silences.

"So?" Felicity finally asked. "What do you think?"

Oliver answered her question with one of his own. "How do you know so much about this stuff? I thought you were the head of applied sciences at a multi-billion dollar company."

She shrugged as she took a sip of her wine. "But before that, I got my master's degree in computer sciences at MIT. Computers have always been my thing. I built my first one when I was in second grade."

He let out an impressed whistle. "That's incredible. When I was in second grade I was playing pranks on my little sister."

Felicity raised her eyebrows. "Aren't you like six years older than her? Making her probably one year old at the time?"

"Yep. It made her an easy target." He grinned.

That made her laugh again, which was exactly what he was going for. He couldn't get enough of her laugh. He wanted to hear it over and over, and what was more, he wanted to be the one to make her laugh over and over.

"Well, speaking as a victim of your pranking skills, I have to say I'm sympathetic toward your sister." She polished off the rest of her wine and reached for the bottle to refill both their glasses.

"I don't know," Oliver smiled. "You held your own pretty well. And you won in the end, so…"

She looked up at him, a smirk shining in her eyes.

"Yes. Yes I did."

* * *

Felicity didn't know what the hell was going on anymore.

Ever since she helped Oliver Queen clear out his old computer and buy a new one, she found herself in a weirdly...friendly relationship with her boss' son. Or at least friendlier than it had been.

He'd stopped bringing women home every night. Or if he did, he didn't bring them back to his apartment because she hadn't heard anything since the night at Verdant. She appreciated that part, because it meant she was finally getting a decent amount of sleep on weeknights. But it was also a little unnerving to have the almost legendary Oliver Queen be so nice to her all of a sudden.

She knew he was up to something. She just couldn't put her finger on it.

When she expressed her theory to Caitlin, her friend just laughed and chalked it up to paranoia.

"Lissy, he's just respecting the fact that you won your prank war," she said as she waved her hand, hoping to make the nail polish dry faster. "He knows how the game is played."

"Yeah, but I feel like he's started a _new_ game," Felicity complained. "It's a game I don't know I'm even playing. I don't even know the rules! The other day he left a thank you card with my assistant that sang every time I opened it. I mean, what the hell is that?"

"It's nice," Caitlin shrugged. "If you're going to freak out every time he does something thoughtful, then you're going to need to complain to someone else."

"I'm not complaining," Felicity insisted. "I'm just trying to figure out what he's up to!"

"Look, I don't get what your deal is," Caitlin said. "Even if he is up to something, a hot guy is paying attention to you. He's buying you coffee tables, he's bringing you wine, he's sending you nice thank you cards...girls all over Starling City would kill to be in your position right now."

There was the rub. She wanted to ignore all the nice things Oliver was doing for her, but she couldn't. Every time he laughed or smiled or revealed something about himself that made him seem less like a tabloid fixture and more like an actual human being, she could feel herself falling into his spell. It wasn't just an incredibly handsome guy doing nice things — it was the possibility that she _liked_ it.

That was crazy. It had to be crazy. She couldn't let herself fall for his spell. She promised herself she wouldn't be another woman he'd discard like yesterday's trash. She had more dignity than that.

But damn it was hard to remember her dignity when that smile of his made her babble.


	8. Whatever, Ray Palmer's still a dweeb

**Chapter 8: Whatever, Ray Palmer's probably still a dweeb**

The ground game was well underway.

Now it was time for the aerial campaign.

It was noon on a Thursday, so Oliver Queen knew where Felicity would be. Holding a bag of Big Belly Burger and a chocolate milkshake, he strode right past her nervous assistant's protests and right into her office.

"Eli, I _told_ you I can't take any visitors right now," she said in an irritated voice once she heard the door swish open. She was hunched over a stack of paperwork, a scowl etched between her eyebrows and a twitching hand, like she was getting ready to throw her pen at her poor assistant.

"Don't blame Eli," Oliver said good-naturedly. "I was the one who let myself in."

That sure caught her attention. She looked up with a start at the unexpected voice and her lovely mouth dropped open. It brought back a flood of memories from the night at Verdant. She'd been very skillful with her mouth then, and it only made him wonder what else she could do with it.

"Oliver," she said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"It's lunchtime," he replied, holding up the bag and the milkshake. "I figured you needed a break to nourish yourself."

She raised a delicate blonde eyebrow. "I'd hardly call Big Belly Burger nourishment."

"Yeah, but I got you the double bacon jalapeno bomber with a chocolate milkshake," he said, walking toward the desk and taking a seat. "It's scientifically impossible to say no to that."

For a moment, Felicity looked genuinely torn. She bit down on that plump lower lip of hers and it honestly took all of Oliver's self control not to lunge across the desk sitting between them to kiss her.

"Ordinarily you'd be right, but I just have so much paperwork at the moment…" she trailed off, staring forlornly at the stack in front of her.

Not to be deterred, he switched out the stack with the Big Belly bag and the milkshake. Dumping the papers in his lap, he started rifling through them. "What are these for?"

"They're project proposals," she answered, rubbing her hands over her face. "Every quarter, startups pitch us their ideas and I have to go through them all to see which ones are the most interesting. The meeting is tomorrow and I haven't even gotten through half of them."

Oliver started flipping through them. Some of them had descriptions that were way over his head, but most of them were just...insane.

"Seriously?" he laughed when pulled out one of them. "Someone wants Queen Consolidated to fund the creation of a laxative that has all the benefits of a juice cleanse?"

Felicity rolled her eyes as she grabbed the milkshake and poked the straw through the lid. "The terrible ideas in there are really what's been bogging down the process."

He flipped through a few more of them, the ideas getting more and more ridiculous. In fact, a lot of them weren't even applied sciences ideas. But then he came across one that caught his attention.

"Huh," he said aloud. "How about this one? A proposal for tiny, micro-robots to inject in someone's bloodstream to help fight infections?"

Her eyebrows shot up her forehead as she stuffed a fry in her mouth. "That sounds a little too science fiction-y to be plausible."

"Not at all," Oliver countered. He started flipping through the proposal. "He's got the science to back it up. Prototypes, diagrams, charts...he's even got projections if Queen Consolidated ever decided to fund it."

Felicity still looked skeptical. "Who wrote the proposal?"

He flipped back to the front of it. "Uh...Ray Palmer."

That seemed to catch her attention. She looked up from the burger she was unwrapping. "Ray Palmer?" she demanded. " _The_ Ray Palmer? CEO of Palmer technologies?"

"Uh...yeah? Why, you know who he is?"

"Are you kidding?" she said through a mouthful of burger. "He's the guy who invented smart wearables! He's like one of the youngest, self-made billionaires in the country! Not to mention, People Magazine named him the sexiest CEO in America."

Oliver huffed in annoyance, suddenly regretting the fact that he picked out his proposal. "You're right, then," he said, burying the document at the bottom. "It's not plausible."

"Hold on," she said, reaching her hand across her desk for it. "If it's from Palmer, then it's probably a good bet. I need to look at it."

"Why?" he challenged. "Stick with your gut instinct. Don't second guess yourself. Pretty boy can find a different angel investor to fund his creepy micro robots."

Felicity blinked for a second at his sudden reticence. Then she burst out into unexpected laughter. "Oliver Queen, is that jealousy I detect in your voice?"

"What? No. I'm not jealous of some tech nerd who's probably never gotten laid in his life."

She rolled her eyes. "Right. Well if it makes you feel any better, he probably doesn't look as good as you do in a suit."

Well that caught his attention. "Wait, what?"

Her cheeks were pink, which made him think she was a little bit embarrassed by what she said. She was not, however, backing down from that statement. "You heard me."

His grin returned full force. "You think I look good in a suit?"

She rolled her eyes again and turned her attention back to her burger. "I'm just saying that compared to Ray Palmer, you wear a suit better. Not that I check you out or anything."

There was no way she could fully back down from what she had said. He now had somewhat proof that she found him attractive. Which meant the ground game was working.

"Uh huh," he smirked. "Sure you don't."

But he tucked away that small piece of knowledge in his brain, waiting for just the right moment to use it.


	9. That's art?

**Chapter 9: Soup or cracker?**

Felicity didn't know when exactly it happened. It was sort of like a snowball sitting at the top of a snow-covered hill; once you tipped it over and sent it rolling, it grew and grew until it hit the valley and barrelled through you with all the force of a battering ram.

She knew when it started, at least. It started the first time Oliver brought her lunch to her office. She put up her nominal protests until the smell of Big Belly Burger and those luscious fries sucked her right in. Then, even after all traces of food had disappeared, he stayed and helped her flip through the proposals until she had a handful of projects to take to her meeting the next day.

After that, he became a regular fixture in her life for some unknown reason. Eli got used to sending him in without word every time he came to her office with a bag of food. He'd keep her company when she couldn't leave work. He claimed he was "helping" her, but it was more like he was distracting her with his carefree smile and his burning blue eyes.

Then, somehow, he managed to get a hold of her cell phone number. After that, she got at least ten texts from him every day. A lot of it was just silly nonsense ( _Pls help! Should i get the blue plaid scarf or the red and gray striped? which goes better with my eyes?_ ), but sometimes they were sweet. He'd send her things like, _Good luck on that big presentation today!_ or _Tried a merlot that i knew you'd like, so i got you a bottle._

And _then_ all of a sudden she started seeing herself on the front of tabloid magazines. The first time it happened, she thought she had a heart attack in the middle of the grocery store. Luckily Caitlin had been there to catch her by the elbow when her knees buckled.

It was a copy of Starling City Tattler, and it was a picture of her crossing the street with Oliver. They were both clutching cups of coffee, but he was smiling straight at her and she had her head thrown back in laughter. To any bystander who looked at the picture, they would have thought they were in love, but in reality Oliver had just told her the latest crazy thing Tommy had done in an attempt to get a beautiful woman to go home with him.

Oliver was beyond apologetic when it happened. He promised to hire a bodyguard for her. He promised to use all of his family connections to get any paparazzi to back off. He promised to pay for any upgrades to the security on her apartment.

But in the end, none of it was necessary. Felicity didn't live the kind of life that Oliver's past flings did — the paparazzi never caught her living it up in the city's night life. They never saw her on street corners in The Glades making deals with shady-looking characters. She was never caught getting in and out of cars without her underwear. So after like a week of disappointing her media stalkers, they eventually backed off.

That didn't stop Oliver from being way overprotective, though. He'd come over to her apartment at least three times a week to make sure she was OK, in addition to all the visits to her office. She was usually in her pajamas by then, but he was fine with it. They'd settle in on her couch with wine or ice cream (or both) while they watched whatever Felicity still had on her DVR. In fact, Oliver had started regularly watching "Game of Thrones" of his own volition, something Felicity was rather proud of.

But between all of that — between the surprise lunches and the surprise bottles of wine — Oliver Queen had become a fixture in her life. She found herself smiling whenever she got a text from him. She found herself wondering what he was up to in the middle of the day. She found herself waiting to start a new episode of some random TV show until she'd get to watch it with him. She found herself weirdly anxious whenever she couldn't see him, only to have that anxiety melt away the minute he smiled at her.

It was only a few days after that realization that she came to another one — she no longer hated her next-door neighbor. She'd even go so far as to say she _liked_ him. Like, _like_ liked him.

And if that wasn't enough of a bombshell, she woke up one Saturday to a series of overly dramatic text messages from the man himself.

 _FELICITY! I NEED THE BIGGEST FAVOR FROM YOU EVER KNOWN TO MAN!_

 _my mom is putting on some dumb fundraiser for the museum and its supposed to be a fancy black tie event and i need a date_

 _and its a week from today_

 _would you please please please please please please be my date and save me from boredom? pleeeeaaaaaassssseeeeeeeee?_

Felicity groaned and rolled over in her bed. Then she got up and banged at the shared wall.

" _So?"_ she heard him ask from the other side.

"You can't take anyone else?" she demanded.

" _I don't want to take anyone else."_

She'd be lying if she said that response didn't make her feel like a host of butterflies had bloomed in her chest.

And that was precisely why she was standing in front of her full-length mirror wearing a deep green, satin gown the night of the event. It was strapless in a sweetheart neckline and it hugged her torso tightly until it it reached her knees, where it flared out. Her hair was pinned up in a series of intricate curls that had taken her forever to look decent. As for accessories, she went with a silver collar that dripped with huge, costume stones, but sparkled like they were real.

Caitlin sat in the armchair by her bed. "Lissy, you look _gorgeous_ ," she gushed. "Turn for me one last time."

Felicity giggled and obliged her best friend. "Well?" she asked. "What do you think?"

"I think you're going to knock his socks off," she grinned.

Ten minutes later, Caitlin had left and Oliver was knocking softly on her apartment door. Taking a deep breath, she slipped her feet into her nude heels and grabbed her silver clutch before opening the door.

The sight that greeted her on the other side took her breath away. Oliver's eyes were trained on something down the hall as he absentmindedly adjusted his cuffs, so it gave her the perfect amount of time to take in and admire his appearance.

She once told him, at the very beginning of their burgeoning friendship, that he was the most handsome person she'd ever seen in a suit, or something like that. And it was still true; even though white shirts with tuxedo pants, a fitted jacket and a neat bowtie were almost a dime a dozen, Oliver Queen was the only person she knew who made wearing it look like a fucking art form. The tux accentuated every attractive part of his body, from his broad shoulders and chest to the rugged cut of his stubbled jawline. Hell, even the cuffs and the tiny silver cufflinks emphasized his big, glorious hands. And not for the first time was she wondering just what he could do with them.

While she was drooling over his impressive figure, Oliver turned his eyes to her and the minute their gazes met, it was like time stood still. As was often the case when they looked at each other, she felt like she was pitched headfirst into a deep chasm — like she'd been standing on the very edge of a cliff, but the magnetic pull of his blue eyes yanked her forward and she was suddenly falling.

The contact broke for a moment while he swept his gaze over her appearance. Suddenly her palms were sweaty, and she was trying very discreetly to rub the moisture away on her clutch purse.

"Wow," Oliver murmured after a beat. "You look...you look incredible."

Felicity's face lit on fire at the warmth of his tone. "You can say that again," she murmured. Then her eyes widened when she realized she had said that out loud. "No, I didn't mean that about me! I meant that about you! I meant that you look like James Bond. Hotter than James Bond, actually. Like James Bond's hotter cousin. I mean, not that you're hot, except you are. That's not what I meant! I meant that you're handsome! You're handsome, and you're handsomer in a tuxedo and oh my _God_ , will you make me stop talking."

His face opened into a heartbreaking smile. Then he reached forward to gently take hold of her elbow. "Felicity," he murmured. "Don't worry. I know what you meant."

She nodded, averting her gaze from his. God, if this was any indication of how the rest of the night was going to go, she was going to be a complete stuttering mess.

He seemed to know what she was thinking because the hand that was wrapped around her elbow trailed down the length of her forearm until her fingers caught in hers, leaving goosebumps on her skin in the wake of his warm fingertips. Then with his other hand, he tipped her chin upward so he could look into her eyes. "Felicity," he murmured, "you are beautiful."

The way he was staring into her eyes, the way he said her name, the sincerity written in every line of his face made her feel like she felt like she was melting, flying and shivering all at once.

After a loaded beat of staring at each other, Oliver broke the silence. "Are you ready?"

She nodded. "As I'll ever be."

* * *

Oliver couldn't stop staring at Felicity in awe the entire car ride to the museum.

She'd always been beautiful, of course, but tonight everything about her sparkled like the diamond he'd long considered her to be. And every time she said something charming or funny, his heart clenched in pain at the beauty of her bell-like laugh. He could barely hold his end of the conversation, content simply just to listen to her talk the whole way.

Of course, by the time they arrived to the venue, everyone else was staring at her. He couldn't really blame them, considering she glittered like the crystals in the chandelier's at his family's mansion, but the knowledge didn't quell his irrational desire to hide her from everyone else's stunned gazes. He wanted to keep her to himself, just a little while longer.

The event was held at the Starling City Modern Art Museum. The main gallery was bright and open, displaying various pieces of head-scratching artwork while the servers dressed in nondescript black wandered the room with trays of hors d'oeuvres and champagne flutes. The minute Oliver and Felicity walked in, he made a quick grab for two of those flutes, then handed one to his gorgeous date.

"Thanks," she grinned as she took the flute from him. Then she lifted it to her mouth and took a sip, reminding him of all those months ago when he first met her at Verdant, his testosterone driving him crazy as every little thing she did turned him on.

Tonight was different. While she was still unimaginably sexy, she was also unimaginably beautiful. It was like he had to tread lightly around her, otherwise he risked her disappearing altogether.

"So fill me in here," Felicity murmured as she leaned in close to him. "Are we purposely avoiding your mother or do we want her to spot us as soon as possible so we can do our due diligence and leave?"

Oliver quirked an eyebrow as he stared at her in amusement. "What do you propose we do after we leave?"

She shrugged, but he caught the tiniest amount of red creeping around her neck. "I don't know. Skip the awful dinner and head to Big Belly instead. Catch a movie. Get drunk and go pee in the fountain outside QC."

He grimaced at the last one. "I told you that in confidence."

She giggled in response. "I haven't repeated that story to anyone."

Together they wandered farther into the gallery. With his hand pressed lightly to the small of her back, they drifted among the pieces, trying to decipher together just what they were supposed to be. In the middle of the room sat a huge, confusing wrought iron piece that looked like a twisted knot of rope. Or like one of those clouds of dust Pig Pen was always kicking up behind him in the Charlie Brown cartoons.

Felicity tilted her head to the side and stared at it through squinted eyes. "Is it supposed to be the Gordian Knot?"

"What's that?" Oliver frowned.

"You know," she said, waving her hands around as if to illustrate whatever picture she had in her mind. "That big huge knot in the legend of Alexander the Great? Whoever could untie this huge, impossible knot would be the next ruler, and for years no one could figure it out, so Alexander just comes along and is like, 'I know how to untie this,' then he pulls out his sword and cuts the thing in half."

He turned back to the piece and tilted his head. "Nah, I don't think so." Then he cleared his throat and adopted a snooty English accent that made Felicity giggle. "It rather looks like a metaphor for modern society's inability to communicate with one another."

"Very good, Mr. Queen," a voice gushed out of nowhere.

The both of them turned to find the source of the voice. It was none other than William Tockman, the curator for the museum. Tockman often came over to the Queen mansion for dinner because Oliver's mother thought he was some sort of genius, but Oliver never liked him. There was just something creepy about his demeanor, like he was the second hand on a clock, twitching regularly with each passing moment. Plus his appearance didn't help; he had huge eyes magnified by thick, coke bottle glasses. Tonight he was in a tuxedo, per the dress code, but even a fancy suit couldn't do anything for him.

"In fact, you're both correct in your interpretations," Tockman said in his nasal voice. "See how many points of entry there are into the structure? It looks like a million different strands, but none of them ever truly connect, you see? Instead they all sort of float, almost connecting but glancing away at the last second. The different points of entry can all represent different modes of communication, but none of them connect until we have one tangled, unsolvable knot."

Tockman chuckled to himself like some sort of self-satisfied know-it-all. "Of course, it's anyone's guess as to who the Alexander is to cut it in half. Maybe Alexander no longer exists, and we are forever saddled with a knot of ineffective communication. Who's to say?"

He laughed again and Felicity joined in on his pretentious chuckles. Oliver shot her a weird look and she paused for a minute to wink and shrug.

When his laughter finally died down, Tockman patted Oliver lightly on the back. "You're quite the art aficionado, Mr. Queen," he grinned. "Much like your mother. We at Starling City Museum of Modern Art are so thoroughly lucky to have you."

With that, Tockman finally sauntered away. The minute he was out of earshot, Oliver looked at Felicity and the clamp on his snickers cracked. The two of them dissolved into peals of laughter that echoed through the gallery. Everyone else in the room turned their heads to stare at them with disapproval, but Oliver didn't care. He was too busy sharing a funny, joyous moment with her.

"Well, Mr. Queen," Felicity giggled as she wiped small tears out of the corners of her eyes, "I think you should probably be leading me on a tour. Translate what all this nonsense means for me."

"With pleasure," he grinned as he offered her his elbow. She took it easily, gazing up at him with her radiant smile and it felt like his heart was a hot air balloon, lifting up higher and higher until his feet weren't touching the ground.

However, they had barely made it even a few feet before his mother appeared seemingly out of nowhere to tap him on the shoulder. "Oliver, darling," she beamed, leaning in for a hug from her son. "I'm _so_ glad you could make it."

"Not like I had much of a choice," he said, but only loud enough for Felicity to hear. While his date was busy trying to stifle her giggles, Oliver let go of her to reach forward and embrace his mother.

"You look beautiful, Mother," he said dutifully when he pulled away.

"Thank you, dear," she grinned. Then she turned her polite smile to Felicity. "And this young woman is also very pretty. Hello, my name is Moira Queen."

"Yes, hi, Mrs. Queen," Felicity answered. Her voice was several octaves higher than it usually was, which made Oliver's eyebrows shoot up his forehead. Was she _nervous_? "I'm Felicity Smoak. I actually work at Queen Consolidated."

The older woman's face brightened at that. "Oh, yes! My husband's talked about you. You're the head of applied sciences, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am, I am."

"My husband certainly can't stop singing your praises. It seems you have quite a hold on the Queen men." Then she winked, much to Oliver's alarm.

"Oh, well…" Felicity blushed bright red.

"I'm joking, my dear. Your dress is lovely, as are you. I hope you enjoy the gala. Try to make sure my son doesn't fall asleep during the presentation."

The younger woman's grin widened and her eyes held a conspiratorial glint. "I promise, Mrs. Queen."

Moira patted Felicity gently on the wrist, smiled at her son, then walked away to mingle with the other guests. Once she was gone, Oliver let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

The boring part of the evening went by uneventfully. At 8 p.m., all the guests were ushered into the main event hall for a dinner that, while delicious, was confusing in both its tiny portions and its configurations. The soup, for example, came in the form of a razor-thin cracker that Oliver poked his fork at several times, afraid that it was some sort of elaborate scheme.

"This is soup?" he whispered out of the side of his mouth to Felicity. "I mean, that's what they called it. That _is_ what the waiter called it, right? I'm not crazy? I didn't hallucinate that?"

Felicity shook her head, equally perplexed. "If you did, then I must have hallucinated too."

After navigating the landmine of dinner, everyone in the room was forced to sit through a mind-numbingly dull presentation of all the art the museum had acquired and commissioned in the last year. Tockman waxed poetic for what felt like hours about the valued pieces and the priceless contribution to the culture of Starling City. Oliver could feel himself drifting away during several points of the speech, but Felicity seemed to sense when it was going to happen, because every time she put her hand on his elbow and squeezed to keep his eyes open.

"Don't lose it on me now, Queen," she whispered once. "If you fall asleep there's no hope for me."

"I'm trying, Smoak," he answered back. But it was really getting difficult.

Finally Tockman shut up and everyone applauded. Whether it was celebratory for the museum or the fact that he stopped talking was anyone's guess, but Oliver was definitely clapping for the latter.

After he exited the stage, the wings parted to reveal a thirty-piece band that started playing soft swing music. One by one, couples got up from their seats to dance. Probably to distract themselves from the weird food, Oliver mused to himself.

After they both finished what they could of some weird, deconstructed strawberry tart as their dessert, Oliver turned to Felicity with what he hoped was a charming smile. In reality, he was trying to make up for the fact that his heartbeat was pounding in his throat.

"How about a dance?" he asked, offering one of his hands.

Felicity looked at him curiously. "Really? You're offering to dance? Do you even _know_ how to dance?"

"Hey," he sniffed in mock insult. "Of course I can dance. You've seen me dance."

"Yeah, but…" she bit down on her lip and the sight had him distracted for a good minute. Then she finished the rest of her thought. "That was different."

It was indeed different. The last time she danced with him they hardly knew each other. In fact, she hated him. But even then, when they were locked in a weird battle over sleep or sex, there was still an electric charge between the two of them. Oliver knew she could feel it. In fact, she could probably feel it now as they sat at that table, staring into each other's eyes.

"I know," he finally answered. "But it'll be fun."

He could see her turning it over behind her blue eyes. He watched as he struggled with the decision, weighing the pros and cons until finally, she threw caution to the wind and took his hand. With a look of triumph, he led her to the dance floor.

Automatically his arms went around her, as he'd been trained all his pre-adolescent life, with his right hand just above her waist and his left hand holding onto hers. Then, very slowly so she could get used to the rhythm, he started swaying them back and forth.

Felicity looked a little nervous at first, glancing down every other second to make sure she wasn't stepping on his toes. But once he had reassured her that she was, in fact, not hurting him, she relaxed into his hold.

Oliver held on to the peaceful moment as long as he could. It was beautiful in its simplicity; just him and her, swaying in soft circles on a dance floor to a soft rhythm. She felt so solid in his hold, but also fragile. Breakable. Like if he held on too tightly she might disappear altogether.

Two songs had passed and neither made a move to change the dynamic. But Felicity wouldn't have been Felicity if she was quiet for longer than ten minutes.

"You're right," she finally chuckled. "This is fun. A lot different than the last time we danced."

Oliver snorted. "You can say that again."

That elicited a full blown laugh from Felicity. "I'm actually surprised you remember."

He rolled his eyes. "Felicity, I could get hit over the head with Donkey Kong-sized mallets repeatedly for a year and be diagnosed with amnesia before I forget about that."

She tilted her head to the side. "Weren't you like half drunk when it happened?"

"Yeah, but it's always going to stick in my mind for the rest of my life."

"Why?"

He looked down at her and took in every inch of her face, from her eyes to her plump lips that were curved into a curious smile.

"Because that was the night I met the most beautiful woman in the world."

The smile she wore slipped off her face until her lips were simply hanging open in shock and her eyes had turned into deep blue pools of wonder.

And it was in that moment, that heavy and loaded moment, that Oliver knew the war was over.

He had won.


	10. OK, I get it now

**Chapter 10: OK, I get it now**

Felicity very much doubted that that was the first time Oliver had ever called someone the most beautiful woman in the world. She did, however have a sneaking suspicion that it was the first time he'd meant it.

The rest of the night passed by in a blur. She remembered a little more dancing and a little more champagne. But by 10 p.m., she and Oliver were climbing into the town car that took them there to drive back to their apartment building.

The ride was a quiet one. Oliver spent all of it staring out the window, his hand resting on the seat between them. Felicity, on the other hand, spent most of it stealing glances at him and wishing with all her might she had the courage to reach over and take that hand in hers.

What the fuck was wrong with her, she asked angrily to herself. When she first met him in person, she spent the car ride making out with him. Hell, she even _straddled_ him. What was so different now?

The difference was, the rational part of her brain chided, that she was no longer trying to win the upperhand in a prank war. The difference now was she genuinely wanted to kiss him. She wanted him to lay her down in his bed and make her scream like she knew he could do.

Eventually they arrived back at their building. The elevator ride was just as quiet as the car ride, and finally, they were standing right in the space between their apartments. Oliver had long since undone his bowtie, so it hung around his neck while he stood there smiling at her, his jacket open and tucked underneath his arms with his hands in his pocket. It gave Felicity a peek at his suspenders and for some unknown, god forsaken reason, it made her want him even more.

"Well," he grinned. "Thanks for coming to the thing with me tonight. You really saved me."

Felicity didn't know what to say, so she just bit down on her lip and nodded. Her hands were itching to reach forward and grab him by the suspenders and kiss him.

"Felicity?" he asked in concern. "Are you OK?'

It was the question that triggered her. It was the breach in the dam.

Instead of answering him, she surged forward and did exactly what she'd been dreaming of. She grabbed his suspenders and kissed him.

If Oliver was surprised, he didn't let on. The minute their lips connected, his hands were at her waist, pulling her closer to him until their bodies were flush — which was nothing to say of how Felicity's face felt. She felt like she was on fire with how his lips slanted over hers, how his teeth nibbled on her bottom lip and how his tongue moved with hers.

"Oliver," she murmured when their faces broke apart. "Take me inside."

His fisted the material of her dress. In the back of her mind, she thought of the wrinkles that would remain the next day in the satin, but she also didn't care. She'd take it to get dry cleaned and pressed eventually.

"Are you sure?" he whispered.

She nodded and that was all he needed. In a flash, his hands had found his keys and the door was unlocked. Then he pulled her inside his apartment.

The minute the door was closed behind them, Felicity grabbed hold of his lapels and kissed him hard. His arms wrapped around her, one staying around her waist while his other moved upward, his hand splayed between her shoulder blades.

Then in an instant, she was pushing the jacket and his suspenders off of his shoulders and unbuttoning his shirt, all while keeping her lips on his. Her hands were trembling as she did her work, but she didn't speed up. She took her time and once his shirt was completely open, she let her hands slip underneath and run down every line of muscle over his torso.

He is a god, she thought hazily to herself. He moaned into her mouth as she grazed the tips of her fingers over his nipples, and she mentally cataloged that reaction, making sure to explore it further in the future.

A startled part of her brain stumbled over her use of the word "future" in her musings, but then suddenly Oliver's hands found the zipper on her back and pulled it down slowly and all thoughts of anything but the present were wiped away from her mind.

Once the zipper was completely undone, the dress fell to the ground, pooled at her feet until she was standing there in nothing but her nude underwear, her jewelry and her heels. He pulled away for a moment to look at her and she felt self conscious all of a sudden. For crying out loud, she was standing in front of _Oliver Freaking Queen_ , one of the most beautiful specimen known to mankind. She had personally listened to three months worth of one night stands from the other side of a shared wall before they'd officially met, and she had also seen all the gorgeous women he'd been linked to in the tabloids.

All of that combined begged the question, what the hell was he doing with her?

But he answered it after he swept his gaze up and down the length of her body, then pulled her back into his arms. She still kept her eyes cast down, afraid of what he might be thinking, so he tilted her chin to look up at him.

"Felicity."

Her name tumbled off his lips like a hymn.

"You are so beautiful."

She didn't have any words for how she felt. So she expressed it the only way she knew how — by wrapping her arms around his shoulders and kissing him again.

Oliver lifted her gently underneath her bottom and, sensing what he wanted from her, she jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist. Without breaking the kiss, he carried her down the hallway and to his bedroom until he placed her down on the bed.

He pulled away from her for a moment to admire her form once again. Then he dipped down to kiss her chest as it rose and fell, struggling for every breath she could drag into her lungs. His lips found the swell of one of her breasts and his hands reached around to undo the clasp of her bra. Once she was free, he took her breast into his mouth, sucking gently on her nipple and flicking it to and fro with his tongue, using his hand to mimic his movements with her other breast. Felicity held onto his hair, her head thrown back and her eyes hooded as she shivered with his ministrations.

But soon it wasn't enough. Eventually his exploration of her body wandered south until he was kneeling at the foot of the bed, her legs splayed and his lips pressed against her jutting hip bone and his fingers pushing into her swollen folds through the wet fabric of her panties. She sighed with every movement of his fingers, but suddenly teeth caught the edge of her underwear and she sucked in a sharp breath as they grazed her sensitive skin and pulled the thin scrap of fabric off her body.

His face was gone for only an instant, and then he was back, his hands pushing apart her knees so he had free and complete access to her glistening center. With the lightest of touches, he reached forward and traced the length of her slit with one of his fingers. She hissed when he skated over her clit, silently begging for more, but he continued to tease her with his gentleness.

Finally, when she was certain she was going to lose her mind if he didn't do something, he leaned forward and pressed his face into her, his tongue driving as deep into her pussy as he could. A gasp caught in Felicity's throat as need and hunger for him replaced all other impulses. She carded her fingers through his short hair, clutching her to him, letting out short, tiny breaths that begged him to keep going.

Soon his tongue and lips were joined by his fingers. She felt one of his long digits sink inside of her, then another. They pumped steadily in and out of her while his tongue laved its attention on her clit. Each stroke and each movement pulled her forward, closer to the edge until finally, sensing she was almost there, Oliver hooked his fingers inside of her and she came apart with a loud cry, her back arching off the bed as her orgasm ripped through her.

He coaxed her down from her high, slowing down the speed of his fingers until Felicity fell slack on the bed, her bones turned liquid and nothing but a soft throbbing pulsing through her body.

Oliver pressed a gentle kiss against her swollen, slick pussy lips and it sent shivers through her. Then he kissed his way back up her body until his mouth found hers. She groaned as his tongue dipped into her again, tasting herself on him.

"Felicity," he sighed.

And just like that, she needed more.

She pushed herself up until she was sitting up on the edge of the bed and Oliver was standing in front of her. He still wore his shirt and his pants, but not for much longer. She reached for the button and the zipper at the front of his pants, then pushed them down along with his boxer briefs. Once he was free of his clothes, his cock sprang free and she immediately took hold of it.

Licking her lips, she gripped it with one tight fist and ran it down his length, from the head down to where the shaft met his balls. Above her, he let out a hiss of pleasure. It spurred her on to do more, pumping him slowly a few more times before leaning down to bring the tip into her mouth. She licked off a few drops of precum, swirling her tongue around the slit until he was groaning. Then she pulled more of his cock into her mouth, sucking her cheeks in and using her other hand to pump him in a rotating motion.

His hands found her hair, brushing through the strands and displacing the bobby pins she had so painstakingly put in just hours ago. But she hardly cared at the moment, as he stroked her head, humming her name as she took him in, deeper and deeper.

Felicity could feel him getting closer. His cock started to swell in her mouth, and then he very abruptly stopped, pulling himself away from her grasp. She whined a little at the loss of contact, and the sound made Oliver grin. Leaning down, he kissed her, then gently pushed her back onto the bed.

"Not yet," he whispered lovingly into her ear. She shivered at the hot breath that brushed against her neck, and soon his mouth made contact with the dip right between her throat and shoulder as he kissed and gently nibbled on the smooth skin he found there.

His hand found her pussy again, nudging her legs open a little to rub at her clit. Though she had cum not all that long ago and was still a little sensitive to the touch, she could feel herself building once more. Just as she was about to fall apart for the second time, Oliver pulled away from her completely.

She growled in frustration, but a few seconds later he returned with a tiny foil package.

"Oh thank God," she groaned.

Then, with impatient hands, she snatched the packet from him and ripped it open. Pulling him closer to her, she grabbed his cock once more, then slipped the condom over his length, pumping him a few more times for good measure to make sure it was on properly.

Once the condom was in place, Oliver pushed open Felicity's thighs to position himself. He ran the tip of his cock up and down the length of her slit a few times, coaxing even more wetness from her. She fisted the sheets underneath her, begging with incoherent moans.

"Please, Oliver," she whispered. "Please."

Finally he obliged her. He entered slowly — first the tip, then inch by inch until she had taken in his entire length. She let out a choked gasp at the feeling. God, he filled her so _completely_ that there wasn't any room for anything else, physically, mentally, even spiritually. All she could feel and all she could think of was Oliver.

Once she was used to him, he started moving slowly. Each thrust pushed her further up the bed, and she reached up above her to grip the headboard. "Oliver," she panted as she pushed her hips upward to meet him. "Oh, Oliver…"

He answered her with desperate grunts. Their shared rhythm started to speed up, as they both chased the high. Then Felicity reached up to grip his shoulders and he fell forward to kiss her, his thrusts never slowing.

"Felicity," he whispered. "You feel so fucking good...God, you're so fucking beautiful…"

His words and the way he moved inside of her made her heart crack open with emotion. "Oh God, Oliver…"

She held on tight around his neck as he moved faster and faster. Each thrust drew a gasp from her as she kept up with him. They were both so close. She could feel it.

Then Oliver's head dipped down to catch one of her nipples in his mouth while the hand not holding him up over her body reached down between them. He pinched her clit and rolled it between his fingers and with that Felicity let out a loud cry as she came.

"Oh God! OH GOD, OLIVER!"

His name falling from her lips seemed to be what did to for him. With one last thrust and grunt, his cock swelled inside of her, his own climax overtaking him.

"Felicity," he whispered as he shook with his pleasure. "Felicity…"

The stars danced in front of her eyes for what seemed like ages. When she finally started to come down, her entire body went slack underneath his, her lungs struggling to take in as much oxygen as they could. God, she thought lazily to herself. That was the most amazing sex she'd ever experienced.

She felt rather than heard the chuckle that rumbled through Oliver's chest. "I'd make a self-satisfied joke, but the truth is that was also the best sex I've ever had."

Felicity groaned, closing her eyes. "I can't believe I said that out loud."

He lifted his head to smile at her. "I'm glad you did."

She giggled as he gently pulled out of her. Once the condom had been discarded, he fell down onto the bed beside her, pulling her flush against his body.

"I guess I can't really complain about the noise anymore," she whispered, nuzzling his nose with hers.

His grip around her tightened. "Does that mean I get to do that again?"

She shrugged a shoulder and smirked. "If I'm not going to get any sleep, I might as well get some pleasure out of it."

Oliver's joyous laughter rang through the apartment and settled in her bones, where it would stay for ages to come.


End file.
